


Looking Inward

by rawrchelle



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:55:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26425234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rawrchelle/pseuds/rawrchelle
Summary: She knew that it would be hard. She knew the nightmares she would face. And yet, she would not have guessed where the true monster lies. Petra, from the beginning of her service to the end.
Relationships: Levi/Petra Ral
Comments: 4
Kudos: 41





	Looking Inward

**Author's Note:**

> For someone who doesn’t believe that Levi and Petra had anything beyond a professional relationship, I sure have a soft spot for this pairing. If they ever did have anything happening behind closed doors, it might’ve been something like this.
> 
> I know that Petra wasn’t in the Survey Corps before Wall Maria fell, but. Oops. Let’s just suspend our disbelief, shall we?

> Dear Father,
> 
> Thank you for the sweets you enclosed in your last letter. They were the perfect treat to celebrate my graduation with! I really wish you could’ve been at the ceremony; I missed seeing you there.
> 
> And I know that you won’t like what I’m about to write, but I can’t lie to you. I’ve decided to join the Survey Corps. I’ve given it a lot of thought. Ranking in the top ten is proof that I shouldn’t be inside the Walls—I need to be out there, protecting humanity. It is an honor to serve the cause.
> 
> Training for the new recruits begins tomorrow. Things will be busy, but I’ll write to you when I can.
> 
> Love always,  
> Petra

* * *

“I love that we get to experience our first expedition together. How lucky are we?”

Petra laughs at Danica. “We’re entering Titan-infested territory, not going to a party.” But even then, she can’t help but feel gratitude to go through such an experience with her best friend.

“That’s true.” Danica flips a lock of her long, brown hair over her shoulder. It gleams in the morning sun, not dissimilar to the manes of the horses that they’re brushing. “Do you think we’ll get our first kills today? We rocked our training yesterday.”

“I hope so.” Petra grins. “I’m ready to start my record.”

Optimism is the only word she could use to describe how she’s feeling. The air is buzzing with it, the other new recruits in her team carrying the same energy as her and Danica. Their team leader supervises their preparations, face grim, and Petra suspects that they will be reprimanded soon for their jovial conversations. Personally, she thinks it’s good for morale.

One speech and half an hour later, they mount their horses and clop through the streets towards the gate. Petra peers down at the onlooking civilians, trying to commit their hopeful faces to memory. It is for them that she does what she does.

It is her father that she thinks of as they ride out into the infinite unknown.

* * *

The Titan is tall. At ten, maybe eleven meters, it lumbers at a speed that is surprising to Petra. They need to take it down, or else it will reach them at its current pace.

Someone on her team fires a red flare. Petra and Danica make eye contact and nod, shooting their hooks and flying off their horses. The wind is loud; she sees Danica’s mouth move, but does not hear her. She follows her friend’s lead through the sparse trees, swinging from branch to branch. Once the Titan is within reach, she fires a hook at its calf and flies, shooting the other one slightly higher at its torso. She rides the arc and uses the momentum to slash through its ankle; falters and loses the trajectory as it begins to topple over. Having only ever swung on stationary buildings and trees, the movement catches her off guard and sends her flying.

She hits the ground and lands on her shoulder, hard. The pain is sharp and immediate. As she sits up, wincing and cradling her shoulder, she turns back to the Titan and her eyes widen.

It is now on its front, but its blank smile shows no indication that it’s in pain. The eyes are huge and bulbous and its nose is oddly shaped—Petra is so caught in its grotesque features that she doesn’t realize Danica is in trouble until she screams.

Petra is frozen. Her blood runs cold as she watches her best friend wriggle in the Titan’s hand, hacking and slashing at it to no avail. Even though Petra cut through its ankle, it is already beginning to regenerate, slowly climbing to its feet. She can only watch in terror.

For a long time to come, she will wonder why Danica only screamed once. She’ll wonder if her best friend was simply too numb with horror to make a sound before the Titan’s teeth bit her in half and discarded her mangled legs like leftovers. She’ll wonder if she felt her body being torn in two, or if the shock protected her from that.

She’ll never know, but what Petra desperately hopes actually happened was that the Titan’s grip crushed Danica. She hopes she died long before she ever reached its greedy, disgusting mouth.

* * *

> Dearest Father, 
> 
> I can’t write about the things I have seen. Not only are they difficult to recount, but it would be cruel of me to force you to read about them. I will say this, though: the world out there is vast. It is so big that one person would never be able to explore it all. I want you to be able to see that in your lifetime.
> 
> I’ve met a man. His name is Bela, and he’s been in the Survey Corps for a year. I know we’re soldiers, but when I’m with him, I can’t help but remember all the jokes you used to make about me giving you grandchildren.
> 
> The next time we get some time off, I’ll introduce you two.
> 
> Love,  
> Petra

* * *

It is still dark when she wakes up with a gasp, her eyes shooting open and her pillow cold with sweat. Even as she does her best to even her breathing, eyes wide and staring at the ceiling, the images are still fresh in her mind, so vivid she knows her brain gathered them from real life.

As every person is aware, blood is red. But not everyone knows that intestines are grey. That the brain has a sickly yellow tinge to it.

“Petra?” her bunkmate mumbles as she climbs down the ladder. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she says, before leaving the sleeping quarters.

She is not the only one with nightmares, she knows. More often than not, screams are heard throughout the night as soldiers wake from their dreams. It’s cruel, Petra thinks, that even in their respite, they are not safe.

Her feet feel heavy as she makes her way to the kitchen. There are a few others there as well, but no one raises their head to greet her upon her entrance. She makes herself some tea and sits at an empty table, holding the hot cup between her hands. The heat is enough to burn her, and she makes sure that it does—she does a slow count to ten before finally setting it down on the table.

She is tired. So tired. But the deep sting she feels every time she moves her hands manages to keep her awake until the sun rises.

* * *

“I swear, for what all of you do, they should feed you more. You’ve lost even more weight. How do they expect you to fight if you don’t have the strength?” Petra’s father rambles on as he dishes up their dinner. She only listens with half an ear; her mind is elsewhere, but if he asked, she wouldn’t be able to tell him where.

The smell of the roasted potatoes and braised beef that he places in front of her makes her nauseous. She has no desire to stomach the food that she fondly remembers wolfing down all her life, but when her father sinks down into his seat and looks at her with expectant eyes, she eats anyway. The meat tastes like rubber.

“Have you been sleeping enough? You don’t look well.”

“I’m fine,” she answers. “It’s just been a busy few weeks.” She forces a smile—it doesn’t feel sincere.

“Well, it’s a good thing you have some time off. There’s no way you can kill those Titans unless you’re well rested. Say, how many more kills have you gotten?”

“No more solo kills just yet, but I’ve done four more assists.”

“Atta girl! I worry about you every time you leave the Walls, but I’m so proud of you.” Her father’s chatter, which once filled her with warmth, is now banal. Words mean so little in this world.

She’s pulled from her thoughts when she hears a familiar name. “Say, didn’t you mention that you were going to bring your man over? Bela, was it?” He looks at her, and it must have been obvious in her expression, in the way her breath hitches, because his face falls. “Oh, honey. I’m so sorry.”

“It was quick, at least,” she says, looking down. “Not everyone gets that.” She forces herself to wait—one second, two, three—before standing up. “I’m tired, so I’m going to turn in for the night.”

“But you’ve hardly touched your food.”

“I’m not that hungry right now. Sorry.” She makes sure not to look at him as she walks away.

* * *

Wall Maria falls. In one fell swoop, humanity loses half of its livable land.

Swathes of people move to within Wall Rose. Her father writes to her about increased homelessness, rising meat prices, and civilian unrest. All she can think about is how there is one less wall separating him from the Titans.

* * *

Petra feels him long before she ever sees him.

Her laughter is practiced now. Easy. It is notably terrifying, actually, how many soldiers in the Survey Corps can continue to smile despite the lives they live. Petra never really knows if they’re being genuine, or if they’re all pretending just like her.

After most of her team was wiped out two weeks ago (the screaming and the blood, that was normal, but the new sensation was the sound, clear as day—she never would have thought that humans could be so _crunchy_ ), she and her remaining teammates joined a new one. It was then that she met Oluo, who for all intents and purposes is just another loud guy, but he is skilled and quick on his feet. They work well together, and it is obvious he likes her. They become a well-oiled machine after only two days of training, and after drills one afternoon, as she is sheathing her blades, she asks him, “Is it just me, or does it feel like we’re being watched?”

Oluo’s eyes sweep around, and then he shakes his head. “I think it’s just you. No one’s paying attention to us.”

“Huh. Okay.” She does a cursory glance herself, but she sees nothing that he wouldn’t have noticed already. All around them is the standard browns, whites and greens of their uniforms, and the glinting silver of their equipment.

Oluo follows her as she heads to the storage room to refill her gas tanks. “You want to hang out later? I hear some people are going into town.”

“Nah,” she says. “Too tired.”

“You didn’t seem tired when you yelled at me a minute ago.”

“I used all of my energy reserves on that. Who the hell wastes their gas to do flips in the air just to look cool?”

“It’s not like I would’ve done it in combat…”

“Well, you shouldn’t do it again. Even if the Titans don’t kill you, I just might.”

But as she walks away from Oluo to return to the barracks, she can’t help but feel a pressure on the back of her neck, an itch under her skin—she turns around once more to survey her surroundings, but there is no one watching her—although she does see the swoop of a dark green cloak, the swift action of someone spinning around and walking away.

* * *

Her suspicions are confirmed two days later.

“You see Levi Ackerman over there? He was watching you like a hawk earlier.”

Petra knows the name, and vaguely the face as well; she’s been on a few expeditions with him, but they’ve never spoken. Levi is Commander Smith’s right hand man and humanity’s strongest, and she’s just a fresh soldier, not even a year out of graduating the academy—so it baffles her that he would be watching her.

But he is. She finds him in the distance, standing with Commander Smith himself and looking comically small. Their eyes meet and their gazes lock, but he doesn’t look away; she eventually has to break the contact because she feels her cheeks begin to heat up. Levi looks mean, looks like he’s ready to slice some napes at any given moment, and if he stares at her long enough, the daggers in his eyes may become real.

Petra shakes her head and tries to rid her mind of his face. But when she can’t, she figures it’s fine—it’s certainly better than the other things she sees when she closes her eyes.

* * *

“Petra! Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“That’s not fine at all! Let me grab some bandages.”

She stares at her hand, at the deep gash marring her skin, at her blood dripping onto the floor. _It’s fine. This is fine. This is nothing._

“Geez.” Oluo returns not a minute later. “You’ve switched out your blades a million times before. How did this happen?” He gingerly takes her hand and begins to clean it up. He’s a good man. In another life, something could have blossomed between them.

“I guess my hand just slipped. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, just be attentive.” Oluo sighs. “You need to take better care of yourself.”

“I take care of myself just fine.”

“You think I don’t see it? You only eat half of your rations. The women say you either hardly sleep, or you sleep through our entire days off. Do you even visit your dad anymore?”

“Stop it,” she hisses, bristling. “Don’t pretend like you know me.”

“I _do_ know you. And I know that you’re better than this.”

Petra yanks her half-bandaged hand out of his and clenches it into a fist. The pain shoots all the way up her arm. She stands up and he follows suit, and she is left glaring upwards at him, livid.

“We’re done here,” she spits, purposely knocking her shoulder into his arm as she stalks out of the room.

* * *

Two weeks later, when her wound is just beginning to scab over, Levi Ackerman approaches her.

He is hardly taller than she is but his presence is something fierce. When he is close enough, she raises her fists into a salute.

“I’ve been watching you. You’re very good.”

It is a simple invitation. And she gives a simple answer.

It takes only three days for the paperwork to go through, and she is packing what little belongings she has in her bag. Apparently, being in the Special Operations Squad means getting a private room.

When she arrives at her new squad’s quarters and sees Oluo already unpacking his own things, she walks past him and does not say hello.

* * *

> Hello Father, 
> 
> Sorry I haven’t written to you recently. Not much has been happening, and with my line of work, I would say that’s a good thing.
> 
> I got my third solo kill today. And I’ve also been promoted. I’m directly under the supervision of Levi Ackerman—I don’t know if you know the name, but he’s humanity’s strongest soldier. He has over forty solo kills. If there was one person who could change the course of history, it would be him.
> 
> I’ll be sending you more money from now on. Hopefully it will be enough to get you a few decent cuts of meat.
> 
> Petra

* * *

She can’t necessarily say she likes Levi. But she doesn’t dislike him either.

It feels refreshing when he yells at them during training and calls them useless shits. It feels true when he tells them with scathing disdain that they wouldn’t last a minute outside the walls under his watch with how they’re acting. The way he reprimands them hurts, but he says the most honest things she has heard in a very long time.

It takes time for them to truly know each other. It takes time for her and Oluo to relearn their relationship. But it happens.

On a sunny afternoon that doesn’t seem different from any other, when the four of them wrap up their training, muscles aching and sweat dripping from their chins, Levi approaches them. They’re all ready and waiting for his criticisms, bracing themselves, watching him with careful eyes, but the barrage of vulgarities do not come. Instead, he puts a hand on his hip and regards each of them, one by one. And then, for the first time, Petra sees him smile.

“Not bad. You guys might actually impress me yet.”

* * *

Their kitchen is smaller than the one she used to frequent under the cover of darkness, but it’s also more private. She regularly sits at the table with heavy eyes, her scalding cup of tea clenched between her hands, staring at the candle burning through the night.

Sometimes she sees Levi walking past the open door. Sometimes he comes in and sits with her. But never do they talk.

They don’t need to, Petra thinks. More is said with their silence than could ever be said with words.

* * *

The falling tree just barely misses her, but she feels the resulting wind pushing her hair back and the scratches of its leaves and branches scraping against her face. Ignoring the sting, she shoots one of her hooks at the Titan’s shoulder and flies. As her other hook lands in its other shoulder to set her trajectory right to its nape, she faintly registers Eld at the edge of her vision, slashing the ligaments of the Titan’s arms.

She slices, deep. Hot steam blasts at her as she zips away, landing on the trunk of the fallen tree. Eld joins her at her side, and together they watch the Titan collapse, already beginning to disintegrate.

“That seems to be the last of it,” he comments, surveying their surroundings. Not far off are three more dead Titans, a combined effort of the remainder of Squad Levi and a part of Squad Mike.

“For now,” Petra adds.

“You should take your wins where you can get them,” Eld says.

“There are no wins in this world.”

She doesn’t need to look at him to know that he’s frowning, and she’s sure he would have more words for her about the matter, but an audible groan catches their attention. Both of them look downward and jump off the tree trunk and onto the grass.

It’s one of the men on Mike’s squad, but Petra doesn’t know his name. She takes note of how he’s crushed underneath the tree from his waist down; his blood is thick and red, soaking into the soil beneath him.

Deaths are always difficult, slow deaths even more so.

Eld moves to sit with the man, and after a moment of hesitation, Petra follows suit. Not even a minute passes until Levi swoops over to them, landing nimbly on his feet and his hooks retracting into his equipment with a tight clang. “We’re regrouping a little ways west of here. Let’s go.” But then his eyes flit over to the half-crushed man. Listens to his slow and labored breathing.

“I wouldn’t want my last moments to be alone,” Eld says quietly.

Levi kneels down in front of the man. “What’s your name, soldier?”

“K-Kuba, sir.”

Levi is silent for a moment. Petra’s eyes widen as she watches him push back his cloak, revealing a sheathed dagger strapped to his thigh. He puts a reassuring hand on the man’s shoulder.

“You did well, Kuba. I will tell Mike of your bravery and contribution to humanity.”

It is so clearly a lie. There is nothing brave about this death, and it did not bring humanity any closer to freedom. (Just like Danica’s. And Bela’s. And eventually, hers.) And yet, Kuba’s face softens, as if he’s finally at peace. “Thank you, sir.”

Petra feels numb, numb and sick and yet somehow _relieved_ as Levi easily slides his dagger into the dying man’s neck. She turns away, unable to look, but she still hears the wet and gurgling gasps for the several seconds it takes for the life to finally leave him. She leans over and dry heaves, eyes prickling with tears.

When she regains herself, Levi is standing and wiping his dagger clean. “Time to go,” he says to her and Eld, expression level and voice casual. “Get your horses.”

It is an odd thought, but a thought nonetheless. As Petra rides across the plains, watching Levi’s cloak billow behind him, she thinks that if she has any choice on how to die, she would like it to be by his hand.

* * *

She pours herself a fresh cup of tea and clasps it tightly as she sits down at the kitchen table. Counts to ten, then fifteen, then twenty, breathing sharply through her teeth the entire time—then lets go.

Her eyes open when she hears footsteps. The candle casts gaunt shadows across Levi’s already gaunt face as he strides over to her with purpose, grabs both of her wrists, and inspects her palms.

The scar she got from accidentally splitting her hand open that one time (it _was_ an accident, she tells herself) is hardly visible anymore underneath the red and peeling skin. She looks away because she doesn’t want to see Levi’s reaction to such a gruesome sight of inflamed flesh and repeated burns that are given no time to heal. He must think it dirty and weak.

He lets go and pulls out a chair, sitting down beside her. “At least choose another place. A soldier needs her hands.” She turns and stares at him, incredulous. He stares right back at her. “I don’t give a shit what you do—just don’t make yourself a liability.”

“Yes, sir,” she says quietly.

“You are an excellent soldier, Petra. Humanity needs you. _I_ need you.”

“Yes, sir.”

When Levi spoke to Kuba, he was able to give him peace. Petra wishes it’s the same for her.

* * *

It’s a small thing, really. At five meters tall, the Titan looks almost child-like, waddling like it doesn’t know how to use its knees. Petra looks at it with dull eyes, and without informing the rest of her squad, she dismounts her horse and lands on the ground.

“Petra?” Oluo notices her first, because he’s Oluo. Because despite their slightly strained relationship, he will always be watching her, always making sure she’s okay. “There’s no need to engage; we can outrun it. Hey, did you hear me—Petra!” But she’s already gone, running towards the Titan that’s headed their way. They are on flat ground; there is nothing to swing off of but the Titan itself, but it should be easy. It is slow and stupid.

When she’s close enough, she shoots her first hook into his stomach. The second one will pierce its arm, and she will detach her first and use it to leverage her around to the nape by aiming it at its back. She can see the progression clearly in her head: she’s performed this series of actions hundreds of times before.

Being on autopilot, of course, is foolish. Although the Titan doesn’t seem to have great use of its legs, its arms are much faster; it grabs onto her first cable that’s still attached to its stomach and sends her lurching in the wrong direction. The straps of her gear tug painfully at her legs but she doesn’t scream; instead she realigns herself and slashes at its fingers, freeing her cable. She falls for only a second as it retracts and returns to her and she shoots it again, the hook easily burying itself in the Titan’s shoulder. Just as she’s swinging herself around to reach its nape, its other hand comes up and grabs her like it’s catching a ball.

The impact knocks the wind out of her. As its fingers tighten around her body, squeezing out what remaining breath she has and cracking her ribs, she thinks of Danica, and how this must be how she felt. She thinks about how she misses her best friend.

And she thinks, this is okay.

She only vaguely hears her squad mates’ shouts, but she doesn’t discern anything they’re saying. She barely feels the fall to the ground, or the way her body bounces like a ragdoll upon impact. When she opens her eyes, just slightly, she can see Oluo’s worried face, and behind him, the slain Titan.

“Petra?” His hands, shaking, hover over her, as if he’s terrified of touching her. She must look so fragile right now. “Captain, she’s breathing!”

“Get her on the cart.” It’s Levi talking. “ _Now._ ”

Petra hardly registers anything that happens after that. All she can think about is how every inhalation feels like fire, how she wasn’t worth saving, and how survival is positively, undoubtedly, worse than death.

* * *

The next time she comes to, she’s in a hospital room so clean and grandiose that she knows she’s within Wall Sina. She groans upon waking, which catches the attention of Oluo, Eld, and Gunther, and they huddle around her with anxious expressions.

“The doctor says you’ll be fine,” Oluo tells her, even though she didn’t ask. “You’ve got a lot of internal injuries, but you’ll be fine.” It sounds like he’s saying it more to himself than to her.

“You had us pretty worried there,” Eld says. “You shouldn’t be so reckless next time.” She attempts to sit up, but pain erupts all throughout her middle. “Whoa there. You’ve got, like, fifty broken ribs. You’re going to be laying down for a while.”

“Humans don’t have that many ribs,” she mumbles hoarsely, to which Gunther hands her a cup of water.

“The point is that you’re on bedrest for at least two months.”

 _Might as well be dead then,_ she thinks to herself.

Her squad mates don’t stay for too long, but as they pile out of the room not unsimilar to rowdy young boys, they promise to visit again soon. She’s only left in her own thoughts for a few minutes before the door opens again.

It’s Levi. And although his expression doesn’t look much different from normal, she’s spent enough time with him to know that he’s angry.

Without a word, he sits in the chair beside her bed and crosses his arms and legs. He’s practically seething; she can feel his rage seeping out of his pores and filling the room. If it was already hard for her to breathe before due to her injuries, then she’s practically suffocating at this point. Petra feels shame, but she isn’t sure if it’s because she knows she disappointed him, or because she managed to survive.

But despite his anger, he doesn’t shout. He doesn’t lash out at her. As the minutes pass, she hears his breathing go from sharp and quick to something slower, something more subdued. And when he speaks, his voice is the most gentle she’s ever heard it. It’s enough to make tears spring to her eyes.

“What happened out there?”

She bites her lip to keep herself from crying. “I was stupid, sir. It won’t happen again.”

“Cut the shit, Petra. It’s not the first time you broke formation—I don’t care about that.” Levi draws a deep breath and exhales through his nose, just as slow. “You could’ve gotten out of that situation. It was small. Your arms were free. Your blades were in your hands. You knew where you needed to cut.” His index finger is tapping rapidly on his arm, like a tick to keep himself under control. “But you stopped fighting.” He looks at her, long and hard, waiting for her to say something.

She swallows. Her voice is quiet. “Yeah. I stopped fighting.”

Levi uncrosses his legs and turns in his chair to properly face her. “Listen. I won’t pretend to know what you’re going through. But if God forbid you die, you need to die fighting. You don’t die simply because you fucking give up.”

“I’ll do my best, sir.” She is unconvinced, and he can see that. In a rare moment of compassion, he takes her hand and squeezes it. It’s one of the few parts of her that wasn’t crushed by the Titan, but it hurts anyway from a still-fresh burn.

“When the demons are too loud,” he murmurs, fingertips gently skimming her sensitive palm, “you come find me. It doesn’t matter if I’m working, or sleeping, or taking a shit. I’ll come. You hear me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You are my family. I will take care of you.”

Petra is crying. Big, fat tears roll down her face and onto her pillow. Her voice trembles. “Thank you, sir.” There is a part of her, deep down, that was waiting to hear something like that all along. That part of her sighs now, feeling a little lighter for the first time in a very long time, and it whispers—

_Finally._

* * *

> Dear Father, 
> 
> Captain Levi really is something else. I can’t really explain all the facets of how incredible he is, but I know I’m in capable hands.
> 
> My time in the Survey Corps has felt long and arduous. More often than not, things seemed hopeless. They usually still do, but Captain Levi gives me some sort of comfort in it, and he gives me the strength to continue on.
> 
> I’m going to devote my life to following him.
> 
> Love,  
> Petra

* * *

“This Captain Levi is the first guy you’ve talked about since Bela,” her father prattles on. “Is there something going on between you two?” The joy in his voice is obvious—Petra hasn’t visited him in a very long time. She’s sure he’s been lonely.

“Not really,” she says. She isn’t sure if the relationship she has with him would be considered special. It’s certainly more than that of a superior and subordinate, but it’s also not a friendship. But it’s _something_ , she thinks. Something precious. Something that helps her get by. Something that makes her feel less alone. Something that lets her breathe.

“Come on, Petra. You don’t ‘devote’ your life to a man unless you love him.”

Her father doesn’t understand. He doesn’t get the resolve soldiers need to continue fighting. He doesn’t get the sheer faith she needs to have in something, _anything_ , just to help her get through the night.

And it’s for the best. She doesn’t ever want him to have to understand that.

* * *

Levi’s door is ajar when she approaches his room. She can see him working at his desk by candlelight, but she knocks anyway, albeit tentatively.

He doesn’t turn to look at her when she steps in, but he does stop writing. “I brought you some tea.” She places the cup on his desk, and before she can pull away, he grabs her wrist and inspects one of her palms. It doesn’t feel condescending when he does it, like the way it felt when Oluo tried to broach the subject many months ago; Levi simply looks, as though curious.

There are no fresh burns tonight, but Petra won’t lie—she certainly thought about it. “It’s just tea, nothing else.”

“I was just wondering if it was the intention or the by-product.” Levi releases her hand and returns to his work, quickly scribbling a few more words before putting down his quill. “Thanks.”

“It was the intention. Tonight, at least.” She watches him wrap his entire hand around the cup. He only holds it there for three seconds before pulling away.

“Sit,” he says, gesturing at his bed. She sits. Her hands ball into fists in her lap and her back stands straight, thrumming with uncertainty.

“You…You told me to see you if it gets bad, sir.”

“I know.”

“I can go if it’s a bad time.”

“It’s never a bad time. Do you want to talk about it?”

She fidgets. “Not really.”

“Do you want me to talk?”

“If you want.”

Levi is leaning forward in his chair with his elbows resting on his thighs, holding his cup of tea by the handle. He takes a sip, contemplating.

“Want to know how I met Erwin?”

Petra is surprised that he would be willing to share anything about himself. Despite the clear concern he shows for his comrades, it always feels like he holds them at arm’s length, refusing to talk about anything before he met them. Curious, she nods.

As he talks, her shoulders begin to loosen and her posture slumps. He recalls the story with ease, like he’s told it hundreds of times before.

And for that short while, Petra feels at peace.

* * *

Sometimes he talks. Sometimes she talks. Sometimes they just sit in silence and he holds her trembling hands, freshly stinging, until they finally still.

If they have a few days off and she spends the entire first day in bed, he will enter her room without knocking with a piece of buttered bread and some fruit, and stay until she eats at least half of it. (Sometimes it takes a few minutes. Sometimes it takes a few hours. But he always stays.)

He never asks her why. He never tells her to just get a grip.

Petra won’t say that he fixes things. It’s clear that isn’t Levi’s intention. But he rides through the roughest waves with her, and it helps her get through another day.

* * *

> Dearest Father, 
> 
> I can’t tell you the details, but humanity is finally taking a step forward. Instead of constantly chasing something we can’t see, we might actually be gaining distance. The winds are changing; I can feel it.
> 
> Captain Levi is amazing. Times are more uncertain now than they’ve ever been, but he remains a steadfast leader. I don’t know where any of us would be without him. It’s an honor to serve him.
> 
> I have some time off next week. I’ll be sure to visit you. I miss you.
> 
> Love always,  
> Petra

* * *

The sun is just beginning to light up the sky in brilliant pinks, purples and yellows when Petra steps into the kitchen, rubbing her sore neck. Levi is the only one there, sitting at the kitchen table with his arms crossed and eyes closed. Upon hearing her approach, his head lifts and he looks at her.

“I’m sorry for falling asleep in your bed, sir,” she mumbles, face flushing. “It won’t happen again.”

“It’s fine. It’s not like I use it much anyway. You looked like you needed it.”

As usual, he’s right. She feels the most rested she has in days; there is something about Levi’s voice that calms her enough to put her to sleep, whether he’s talking about how much of a shit Squad Leader Hange is or something less vulgar but equally inane. For how little he usually talks, he can go for long-winded spiels until some of the dullness in her eyes melts away.

“Petra.” His voice pulls her from her thoughts. “I don’t know what’s going to happen today, but Eren being there changes things. You have to be careful, got it?”

She nods, swallowing. “Yes, sir.”

“No matter what, you fucking fight.”

She doesn’t know why he’s so insistent this morning. It’s just another expedition—but then again, Levi has always been more intuitive than the rest of them. Maybe he just feels that something will be different today. “Of course, sir.”

He looks at her, long and hard, as if trying to discern whether or not she’s just saying it to appease him. “I’m counting on you.”

“I won’t let you down.”

* * *

She fights. She swears, she fights.

After Gunther is cut down, she keeps going. She doesn’t turn back. She puts all the hours of training and trust in her teammates into shearing down the Female Titan, slash after slash. She feels strong. She feels powerful.

She fucking _fights_.

But the shock of Eld being bitten into two makes her falter. The Female Titan’s selective regenerative capabilities makes her mind freeze. Even as Oluo screams at her to regroup, all she can think is, _how?_

And then she is not thinking at all.


End file.
